


Weary

by JollyTimeTraveler



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Angst, Fainting, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Jon collapsing again, No beta we kayak like Tim, Sick Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sickfic, Sleep Deprivation, Whump, hurt/comfort but without the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29180526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollyTimeTraveler/pseuds/JollyTimeTraveler
Summary: Set somewhere in S4Jon's habit of forgetting to sleep or eat catches up with him.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 108





	Weary

**Author's Note:**

> Clambering out of the depths to drop a purely self-indulgent fic after five years of not writing. Feels super weird to be back here, honestly. 
> 
> Anyone else super stressed out over the fact that TMA is ending soon???

He hadn't slept in days. 

It happened. 

He hadn't eaten in days. 

It happened.

He''d honestly not noticed, subsisting on old statements and the ever growing fear that the world was going to end before he could stop it and just needed to-

Jon's head jerked and he startled, sitting bolt upright in his chair. Torn out of his thoughts. Or, rather, the lack thereof of any thoughts at all. Exhaustion had hit him and he’d momentarily dozed, cutting off mid sentence of whatever statement he'd been reading, his head slipping from where it had propped itself on his hand, nearly hitting the hard wood of the desk. It was unusual for him to stop in the middle of a statement. He rubbed at his forehead absently. It didn't hurt, but his entire brain felt fuzzy. He checked his watch, seeing that it was just past 5 pm.

He glanced at the mug on his desk and mused that maybe he should make some tea. Or drink some damn water. 

Or call it quits for a bit and go home. 

Home. That was the weird word of the hour. A sense of fear washed over him at the thought of leaving the institute. What if something happened again while he was gone? What if someone attacked? What if there was an accident or-

Jon settled on getting some more tea. He got up, wincing stiffly, grabbing the mug, and heading to the break room. When he stood, he felt an ache of exhaustion in his bones but shook it off, telling himself that he'd get some tea, raid the fridge for perhaps some kind of human food, and see if he had a change of clothes stashed somewhere. 

A shiver of static ran up his spine and a thought dropped into his head. It told him that there were no clean clothes in his office- he'd already worn them- but there was an untouched apple on the counter of the break room. 

Of course. An apple. Thanks to the Eye for-

Jon’s vision darkened around the edges and he was dimly aware of a crashing sound and then he was falling.

* * *

Basira ears pricked at the sound of shattering glass. The archive had been all but silent for days, except for the occasional shuffling of papers and soft conversation about dire circumstances. No one had the energy or morale to bother with music or friendly chatter. The shattering wasn't a window, too small of a sound. Still, she jumped to her feet as fast as she could and darted to the hallway. 

“Jon?” 

The still form of Jon was sprawled facedown on the floor, the remnants of a coffee mug scattered across the floor beside him. He was still and a part of her wondered if he'd died. 

No, he was breathing. So what happened? Basira crouched down beside him and pulled him onto his side, brushing dark curls out of the way to get a look at his face. He had a wicked split on his forehead that was dripping blood onto the tile, probably cracked his forehead on the wall or bounced it off the floor. She cringed at the thought of it. 

“Jon? Jon. Wake up.” She tried. There didn't appear to be any other injuries on him that would've caused him to collapse like this. 

Typical Jon and his tendencies for collapsing. The sound of footsteps drew her attention. 

Daisy rounded the corner from the break room, drawn by the noise, Melanie right behind her. 

“What's going on?” Melanie demanded. “We heard a crash.”

Melanie’s eyes landed on Jon’s prone form.

“What's wrong with him?” Daisy squatted down as best she could beside Basira. 

“Dunno. I just found him like this.” Basira said, still holding Jon’s shoulder. He hadn't moved, not even a twitch of an eyebrow or finger. 

“Get some paper towels from the break room. We should clean up the blood.” Daisy turned to Melanie but she was already gone, returning a few moments later with a wad of paper towels. 

She passed them over to Daisy, who pressed it to Jon's head. The wound was already closed but she did her best to mop up the blood.

“Jon? Jon? Can you hear us?” Daisy tried, prodding at his cheek. It took a moment, then his eyebrows scrunched and he inhaled sharply.

* * *

Jon felt pressure on his head and wondered if he had a migraine. Wouldn't be the first time. But why did his shoulder ache? And his knee, more than usual? His cheek was pressed against something hard and cold. He could vaguely hear noises, voices? He inhaled, preparing himself to open his eyes and did so. The light stabbed him in the cornea and he groaned, squinting. He registered people and looked up, vision adjusting slowly. 

“...n? ...on? Can you…” someone was talking. It was taking a lot of effort for his ears to process.

He wanted to go back to sleep. But a hand touched his cheek and he flinched and had to see who was touching him. 

“Daisy…?” he breathed. It was Daisy. 

Basira had a hand on his shoulder and behind Daisy stood Melanie. 

Jon made to sit up and unsteadily did so, swaying where he sat. His head was spinning and the floor felt unsteady.

“What happened?” Daisy asked.

“I...I should get back...back to my office.” His words felt slurred. Probably sounded slurred.

“Let's get you up.” Basira said, grabbing Jon by the hands and pulling him up. It was easy. 

But the minute he was upright, black stars exploded in his vision and he regretted standing. He staggered and seized onto a pair of shoulders, someone catching him under the arms. He'd stumbled right into Basira. 

“Christ, Jon!” Basira snapped at him. 

“I…sorry…” He swallowed thickly, unable to focus on her face and instead settling his gaze on a spot on the wall over her shoulder, confusion filling his head with static. “Tired…. just tired…” 

His head bobbed and his cheek landed on Basira’s shoulder, sagging against her. He felt her stiffen and a traitorous thought wondered if she would let him drop, but she didn’t, arms firmly wrapped around his rib cage, holding him up. 

“He looks terrible.” Daisy commented.

“When’s the last time you read a statement?” Basira asked him. 

“...I was...I was in the middle of one…” He managed to say.

“Give me a hand with…..” the rest of Basira’s words faded away as a dull ringing filled his ears. 

Hands grabbed his arms and he felt his weight lift off his feet slightly. He was guided in some vague direction. His awareness faded in and out until he found himself unceremoniously deposited on something flat and mildly comfortable. More comfortable than the floor. 

The cot in storage. Of course. He curled up on his side, consciousness already threatening to abandon him. Something landed on him and he struggled, swimming through exhaustion thicker than mud.

“It’s just a blanket, Jon.” 

Daisy. Daisy was there, somewhere in the darkness. Jon stopped struggling, settling on his back to stare up in the darkness where he thought she was. He couldn’t see her. But she could see him. He knew she could see him in the dark. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Daisy asked, in a tone of curiosity. 

“I...I don’t know,” Jon answered in a low voice, as though speaking too loud might cause his head to crack, “I’m...I’m tired.”

“Hm.” Daisy’s response was noncommittal. “I'll bring you a statement later.”

He curled up on his side, dragging the blanket up over himself. Her footsteps faded away from him and a momentary beam of light stabbed him in the eyes as she opened the door and shut it again. A horrible part of him wished she would come back.

He was alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what's actually wrong with Jon, I just wanted to write a scene of him collapsing.


End file.
